


Persuasive

by days4daisy



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bondage, Cloak of Levitation (Marvel), Dubious Consent, Living Clothing, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-14 18:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14141628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: Loki comes to bargain. His tactics are unusual to say the least.





	Persuasive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heeroluva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/gifts).



> Happy Smut Swap, heeroluva! It was so much fun to write for you, hope you enjoy this :D

Stephen feels him before he sees him, a murmur in the energy of the Bleecker Street house. The air thickens like a summer day. It clings to Stephen’s clothes and leaves sweat on his skin.

Stephen reappears upstairs in his study. Loki, God of Mischief, is examining his books.

Loki  wears the odd avante garde suit he made use of on his last journey to Earth. He seems bored by Stephen’s appearance, only a glance and a sip of tea - no doubt stolen from Stephen’s collection.

“I never did hear your story,” Loki greets. “Has Midgard always been home to sorcerers, or are you a special breed?”

“You’re drinking my tea,” Stephen mutters. The Cloak thrums around his shoulders like a hand balling to a fist. It knows, like Stephen, that the Sanctum's binding should protect it from unwanted visitors. Loki is not wanted.

“It’s good,” Loki says. “There’s a smokiness to it, an old blend if I’m not mistaken. Old by Midgardian standards anyway.” He examines the ceiling with interest. “You’re a protector, are you not? The energy here - it’s warding magic.”

“ _Why_ are you drinking my tea?” If Loki is here for revenge, he could have taken it by now.

Loki smiles, as if sharing Stephen's thought. “I should gut you for that trick during our first meeting. But, lucky for you, that would be counterproductive on my part.”

Ah, he's come to bargain. Stephen smiles, narrow and skeptical.

Unfazed, Loki continues his examination of Stephen’s library. His turned back feels like a dare. Stephen can’t help himself, he’s intrigued.

“Let me save you some time,” Stephen says. “If you’re about to pitch me an alliance for your redux of Loki Takes New York-”

Loki’s bark of laughter sounds genuinely surprised. “I can assure you, that’s not why I’m here.” His ease doesn’t fit his power. Even a room apart, Stephen senses Loki's magic purring like a well-oiled engine.

Stephen lifts an elegant ‘you’re bullshitting me’ brow. “Global conquest no longer on the menu?” he asks.

"Never say never, I suppose.” Loki’s smile falls to pensiveness. “Asgard is no more,” he says.

Asgard. Thor’s home. A realm of gods. “Your brother-”

“My brother’s errand is what I’m here on,” Loki says. “Thor is alive, as is a small company of survivors. With Asgard’s destruction, they are homeless and in search of refuge.”

“Earth, you mean.” The Cloak bristles around Stephen’s shoulders.

Loki smiles wryly. “My brother is something of a hero here,” he says. “There are few other realms that would be as welcoming as Midgard.”

Stephen folds his arms across his chest. He doesn’t miss the flit of Loki’s eyes to them. “You’ll be with these Asgardian refugees, I assume.”

“As fate would have it, I proved myself something of a saviour to Asgard’s survivors.” Loki’s eyes glitter with amusement. “I’m quite popular with them, and it would be wise to allow me to assist in this next stage of Asgard’s development.”

“Yeah...you’re not exactly popular here on Earth though.”

Loki nods. “And so, here I am.”

It’s ridiculous; so laughable that Stephen does, in fact, laugh. Then, he says, “Get the hell out.”

Loki tilts his head. “Is that a no?”

“Yeah, that’s a hard no,” Stephen says. “If Thor wants to talk, I’ll listen, but you hit ‘three strikes’ on this planet a long time ago, Loki. You may be, I don’t know, changed or whatever. You’re not welcome here, and I’m saying it nicely. Others won’t.”

“It was worth a shot,” Loki says, sighing. He doesn't seem all that surprised. “You will consider a proposal from my brother, however? So long as I’m not involved?”

“He’ll have more than me to reason with-”

“You are the center of power in this realm.” Loki says seriously. “A treaty of this nature should begin with you, should it not?”

Politics are politics. It won't be easy to hide a ship of alien refugees from the public eye, especially when one of those survivors is the God of Thunder. But Stephen has to accept the power he now possesses, responsibility entrusted to him by The One. “I’ll talk to him,” Stephen says, “if you’re out of the picture.”

Loki hums. “I hope you’ll reconsider.” With this, he’s gone, neglected teacup teetering on the edge of a bookshelf.

***

When Stephen retires to his room that night, Loki, God of Mischief, is on his bed. This time, there is no pulse of energy to announce his arrival. No thickening of the air, no scent of magic. _He’s using something else_ , Stephen thinks. _Something strong._

Loki still wears his all-black suit, but his leather shoes sit at the foot of the bed. His legs are crossed at the ankles, and his hair washes down a shoulder.

Stephen only wears a pair of sweats. He is unguarded, face-to-face an alien threat armed with a mysterious power source. This is a problem, to say the least.

Stephen leans against his door frame. “Is this a proposition?” he asks, raising a brow. “Because the answer to you on Earth is still no.”

“Your hands,” Loki says. “Do you hide them as a ruse so your enemies will underestimate you? Or is it instinct to tuck them away as you do?”

“What did you use to get here?” Stephen asks, frowning.

Loki rolls to his back, a luxurious sigh breathed towards the ceiling. “The tesseract,” he says.

Ice pits in Stephen’s stomach. “You stole-”

“There is no Asgard left to steal from,” Loki snaps. A vein puffs on his forehead, the first slip of his control.

His short-lived lapse becomes a chuckle. Above his head, the tesseract - no, an illusion of it - forms. Its light reflects off Loki’s interested eyes. “My brother was rather cross when I informed him,” he admits, “but he came to understand the value of our possession. With no bifrost and limited transport, there are few ways for our people to request aid.”

“You used the tesseract to get here?” Loki nods. “And you still don’t see why I want you off this planet.”

Loki’s eyelids sink, green slits of intrigue glittering beneath them. “I’d like you to reconsider,” he says. He sits up, legs folded, in the center of Stephen’s bed. The sight is so absurd, only the danger keeps Stephen from laughing. “I pose no threat to your realm, or to the last of my people," Loki insists. "I will disguise myself if I must. My place is by my brother’s side.”

“Noble,” Stephen acknowledges. “Still no.”

Loki blows out a breath - a laugh, Stephen realizes. “I’ll make it worth your while,” Loki offers.

Stephen laughs too, hoarse and disbelieving. “So this _is_ a proposition-”

“You interest me,” Loki says. “You are more powerful than a Midgardian should be. The others are man-made abominations. Stark and his technology. The Soldier. The Beast. But you-”

“I like a bit of flattery, don’t get me wrong.” Stephen’s eyes narrow. “But you’re driving down a one way street here.”

Loki smiles. “Am I?”

Stephen glares, and warning light unfurls from the tips of his fingers. Loki’s attention shifts downward. His tongue traces over his lips.

Stephen frowns at the reaction. “Get out,” he says.

“Please.” Stephen catches Loki picking at his left hand with his right. A nervous tick? A charade?

Stephen pushes off the door frame, daring to close the distance between himself and the god on his bed. “I said I’ll speak to your brother. That’s it, Loki. That’s the deal.”

“I see,” Loki says. He looks away, nodding. “Well then, I suppose we have nothing more to discuss.”

“Guess not,” Stephen agrees. The tension begins to drain from his shoulders. His balled fists open, and he nods towards his open bedroom door. “Go.”

That’s when his wrists wrench back and something soft and familiar winds around his neck.

“What are you doing?” Stephen demands, staring at what he can see of the Cloak. It feels foreign against his back, shivering and tense.

Loki stands from the bed, power barely concealed behind a curious smirk.

“What did you do?” Stephen barks. His voice comes out choppy with the fabric around his neck. The Cloak winds tighter, like a snake coiling around its prey.

“Fascinating," Loki says, "sentience woven into the fabric itself. It's quite loyal to you. I won’t be able to hold it for long.”

Stephen flexes his hands, reaching for his magic. The Cloak’s grip thickens, and Stephen hisses. Pain stabs through his fingers, and the static building in them vanishes.

Loki has the gall to tsk at him. “Come now, don’t do that.” He traces Stephen's trembling fingers. “What scars you wear.” His thumb crosses Stephen’s; a long, white scar line. “An accident?”

“If you’re planning on killing me-”

“Killing you?” Loki looks surprised. “That gets me nowhere.”

“So what?” Stephen musters a glare. “You’ll humiliate me, is that it? You want egg on my face after what I did to you?”

Loki frowns. “Egg on your- is that an expression?” He waves off his own question. “No matter. I admit, if you were to feel a _twinge_ of embarrassment over your apparel's deceit, that would please me.” His smile departs quickly. “But it doesn’t get me what I’m after.”

“Which is…”

Loki breathes a quiet laugh, gaze unnaturally still. He releases Stephen’s hand in favor of touching his face. Stephen turns from him, scowling. His arms burn, and he sucks in a breath, fighting the fabric around his throat.

“You’re awfully interesting, aren’t you?” Loki is in his space, close enough for Stephen to feel his breaths. Casual fingers drift up his side, warm and eerily gentle. Something hot and interested sparks from the touch.

“Stop,” Stephen says.

Loki hums. “Stop what?” Stephen feels the words on his face. He can’t see Loki speak, his mouth is too close.

“Whatever you’re doing,” Stephen grits. “Whatever this is.”

“Of course,” Loki says. “I’ll get right on that.” He covers Stephen’s lips with his own.

Stephen doesn’t know what else to do. He bites. Hard.

Loki turns sharply from him, and Stephen’s arms are strung above his head. Stephen curses; hot, startled pain drags down his shoulders.

When Loki raises his head, his bottom lip is bloody. Worse, he’s grinning. “You’re a feisty thing!” he says. “Impressive. Few on this planet can draw blood from me.”

“Couple of Avengers might have something to say about that,” Stephen mutters. His voice is too weak for his own liking.

“The Hulk is with our company too, did I mention that?”

As much as Stephen hurts, he still reacts in surprise. A momentary slip, but it's one moment too long. Loki watches knowingly as he dabs his torn lip. His hand smudges with his own blood.

The Cloak is...moving again. The pressure around Stephen's neck is becoming difficult to tolerate. Stephen has to drop his head back and try to stretch more air in. His power does not answer his call, and the Cloak isn’t responding. It follows Loki’s finger instead, a disconcerting spiral twirled in the air.

The pain in Stephen’s hands dulls, and the garment’s grip on his wrists relaxes. Stephen grimaces. His fingers feel like pins and needles. “If your goal is to make me think you pose no threat to Earth-”

“I will always pose a threat, Doctor.” Loki says, a sparkle in his eyes. “But the goal, other than...egg on your face?” He raises a brow. “Is to show that I _do_ pose a threat. I could, in this moment, do anything to you. To this building. To New York. Even without an army, I can level this city and everyone in it. I could break every last one of your wards, gatekeeper, and invite doom to this realm that you cannot fathom.

“But I won’t,” Loki adds, quieter. “I don’t intend to harm you or anyone in this city. I will prove that to you, Doctor.” He smiles. “And you will let me be with my people.”

“Yeah see, that logic? Not adding up, pal.” Stephen keeps his voice even and his glare direct. He tries not to think about the fabric snaking higher on his neck. An edge of the Cloak rides up his chin. Stephen jerks away when it strokes his snarling mouth.

“What are you-” Stephen's words break when fabric pushes past his lips. It feels soft and hard at once, gliding across his tongue. Stephen's jaw aches, forced to open too wide too fast. Fabric coaxes the back of his throat, and he swallows hard to keep from gagging.

Loki watches the Cloak bob past Stephen's lips. It slithers down Stephen’s body in tandem, testing the waist of his pants. The fabric chooses - chooses? - to rub the front of his sweats. Pleasure stings startling. Stephen growls his dissent as his body warms to the touch. His pants fill under the Cloak’s coaxing strokes. Heat like thumbtacks prick low in his gut.

The slick slide of fabric past his teeth continues. The Cloak is somehow gentle and heavy on his tongue. It’s perfect. It’s too perfect to be Loki's guess, and Stephen swallows the reaction that wants to jump out. He feels here and not, this is - it’s crazy.

The Cloak dips under the waist of Stephen's pants. Fabric snags fabric, and his sweats puddle on the floor. His cock is half hard and already blushed. Stephen should be mortified. He isn't, he's pissed off.

Furious, he glares at Loki. Loki is strangely subdued. He may be a weasel, but he's also a powerful Jotun sorcerer; Thor's brother. Last time, they played by Stephen’s rules. This time, Loki is having his fun.

Stephen should fear him, but fear isn't in his nature.

Loki’s bloody mouth twitches. “You’re not afraid of me,” he observes, as if he’s in Stephen’s head. Who knows, he may be. “Unwise, but admirable.”

The Cloak eases from Stephen’s mouth. Stephen fights the instinctive feeling of loss.

“I’d like to hear the story of your hands,” Loki says.

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Stephen's voice is rougher than he would like.

“I understand your reluctance. Weakness is something I quite loathe myself.”

Loki does not move, but his clothes melt from his body, black suit folded on the mattress behind him. He’s naked. God of Mischief, over one thousand years old - naked in Stephen’s bedroom.

It takes a minute for Stephen to get past how insane this is. Then, he truly sees.

A large, gaping scar mars the center of Loki’s chest. The rest of his body is no less broken - a criss-cross of white lines and discolored splotches. Old burns, or places where the skin had to...regrow? Chunks of his flesh have been chewed out, scabbed over, brutally reformed.

Stephen hates himself for his curiosity. He covers it with a frown. “Am I supposed to care?”

“No,” Loki says. “That’s the funny thing about pain, isn’t it? There was a time when I yearned to burn this world to the ground simply because it didn’t care. It was beneath me, mine to rule; I’d earned that right. What gall, for this realm to deny me the prize I’d suffered for.”

Stephen thinks Loki is mad, and that he makes too much sense. It feels safer to say nothing.

He is almost grateful for the distraction of the Cloak moving around his body. It loops around his neck and eases between his legs. Fabric coaxes between his asscheeks and folds over his scrotum. It coils around Stephen’s testicles. Their heaviness flushes redder, bulging tight under the Cloak’s pull. It winds around his cock, and Stephen can’t bite back his hiss. His sex is erect and displayed proudly, wrapped up like a birthday gift.

Stephen snarls when Loki catches his chin between thumb and forefinger. But it’s hard to hold his anger, his body is too distracted by the thrum of the Cloak. Stephen feels hot and off-balance. Loki’s eyes are doing things to him.

“Were you tortured?” Loki asks. “Is that what broke your hands?”

Stephen’s laugh barks out, harsh and unsteady. “I broke my own damn hands," he grits. "No one did it to me. I did it to myself.”

Silence follows, made worse by the subtle quirk of Loki’s brow. He looks sincere in his surprise. Stephen hates him more for this sincerity than for anything else tonight.

After a pause, Loki smiles. “I suppose there’s a measure of comfort in that. No one could break you but yourself.”

The words strike a nerve. “I’m not like you, Loki," Stephen spits. "Stop pretending that I am.”

Loki nods vaguely and plucks the Cloak looped around Stephen’s stomach. It ripples as if purring against Stephen’s skin. The fabric hums between Stephen’s legs. He can’t bite back his gasp.

Loki’s mockery never comes. Instead, he sinks to his knees, head raised, face calm. The blood has begun to dry on his mouth, his lower lip a darker shade of red than the top.

“What are you doing?” Stephen says.

Loki touches the fabric around Stephen’s cock. It shifts, tightening, slick and soft. Stephen drops his dizzy head back.

He fights, trying to summon anything. Nothing happens. It’s as if by binding his body, his magic has also been bound. It shouldn’t be this way. Stephen’s power is not contained by his skin alone. It must be the tesseract’s influence. Or maybe Loki has done more than bind the Cloak to him. Maybe he’s applied his own wards, or done something else to neutralize Stephen's power.

Loki can do anything to Stephen right now. Closing his lips around Stephen’s shaft is not what Stephen expects.

Loki is relaxed as he gathers Stephen’s cockhead onto his tongue. His lips loop around it, sucking, provoking. The Cloak thrums around Stephen, sending shudders through Stephen’s body. “Get off,” Stephen says. His sounds unsure to his own ears, quiet and unsteady.

“Hm,” Loki considers, mouth occupied otherwise. He drags his tongue, flat and hot, along Stephen’s head. Wet pressure dips into the slit, and Stephen’s thighs begin to shake. He struggles for steadying breaths. A groan leaves them when the Cloak slithers to his face. It brushes his lips like the tease of a lover’s thumb.

Warmth purrs through Stephen’s body. He can’t help himself, his tongue teases out, stroking fabric, tickled by the Cloak’s caress.

There’s a lot wrong here. But the main problem is that Loki looks - Stephen can’t - he keeps _looking_ at Loki naked on his knees. Loki's gaze lacks his trademark smug sparkle of triumph as he curls his tongue against Stephen's shaft.

He’s waiting for Stephen’s body to approve, even though his words don’t. He’s confirming pleasure before he gives more.

Loki’s mouth is patient, inching Stephen down. He’s so wet, lips slick with saliva and blood. A part of Stephen wants to give in, thrust all the way down his throat, see if Loki can handle it. But he won’t, he can’t. It’s exactly what Loki wants - isn’t it?

What does Loki want? This can't be about being on Earth with the Asgardians. It must be something else, but…

Loki’s arms drift around Stephen. His fingers, bony and thin, hook into Stephen’s ass. He pushes, and Stephen’s hips buck forward. He tries to chew back his groan, but it still dribbles out. Loki’s cheeks sink in as he swallows more. His thumbs caress the base of Stephen’s spine; new pleasure plinkos down his back.

He gasps when Loki’s fingers pull him again, this time spreading and denting bruises into his skin. Stephen feels himself opened up, asscheeks forced apart. The Cloak coaxes the rim of his hole. Stephen’s heart stutters in panic. This isn’t - he wouldn’t -

The Cloak twists into a delicate knot. Slowly, gently, it pushes past the crown. Pressure swells between Stephen’s legs, and he bucks in shock. “ _No_.” The word wrenches out of him, thick with fear.

Loki releases Stephen from his mouth and looks up with a thoughtful frown.

After a pause, Loki nods. The pressure stops, and the Cloak’s knot eases away. Stephen braces for Loki to crow at his weakness, but he doesn’t even smile. With a glance, Loki gathers Stephen again into his mouth.

Fabric shifts around his body and weaves between his fingers. It buzzes between his thighs and hooks tight around his balls. Loki’s head descends far enough for his lips to graze the Cloak’s edge. The garment teases at Stephen's lips in time, ghosting past them with every startled breath.

It’s like Loki knows where to touch him. Or maybe the Cloak shared his most intimate secrets. The Cloak who, unbidden, wiped tears from Stephen's eyes. Who has rubbed his sore hands and rippled knowingly as he touched himself. Stephen has never dwelled on how intimately the Cloak knows him, or how this intimacy could be used against them. Until now.

Loki bobs his head, the wet sound making Stephen’s head swim. He strains against the Cloak’s hold, and his hips rock against Loki’s mouth. If Thor’s brother is trying to humiliate him, he may as well go all the way. Loki is barely scratching the itch he’s created.

Tesseract or no, Stephen never should have let his guard down. It’s not just his body at stake, it’s everything. The power within the Sanctum, the knowledge at Loki’s disposal.

Stephen thinks of The One. He thinks of Mordo. He thinks, bitterly, that Loki looks good on his knees; cheeks drawn in, drinking down Stephen’s cock like it’s the finest delicacy this realm has to offer. The fabric shifts, and Stephen bucks in his restraints. White-hot pleasure sears through his body.

Loki grips tighter, forcing Stephen's waist to still. The cloth unwraps from his shaft like untying a fancy bow, and more of his skin reveals itself to Loki’s mouth. Loki descends without hesitation, mouth already so full. A warm tint reaches his cheeks. His eyes point forward, set to task.

Stephen’s skin prickles with too much sensation. Every slide of Loki’s lips brings on a new wave of feeling, making him jump in his bonds and chew back fresh sounds. Loki’s hands are bruising. Need swells through Stephen's spine. It's like he’s falling and can't stop, how ironic. The Cloak swathes his balls tightly. They throb red hot and bump against Loki’s chin. Loki’s jaw sinks, and he makes a low sound.

The fabric falls away completely, and with it goes Stephen’s loose grip on control. The Cloak strokes his lips. Stephen is gone. Fear and need twist together until Stephen doesn’t know which he feels more. Heat froths inside him, spilling too hot, too fast. He looks at Loki, and Loki looks at him. Stephen doesn’t see anything after except the inside of his own eyelids.

Minutes pass. Dazed, Stephen blinks at Loki. The God of Mischief is drying his mouth against the back of a hand. “You bastard,” Stephen slurs. The Cloak is the only thing keeping him upright.

Loki’s mouth quirks in reply. “If I were a bastard,” he rasps, “I would request that you ready yourself again.” He waves a hand.

Stephen feels it immediately, like one thousand needles prickling across his skin. He gasps. Feeling throbs behind his tired eyes and stirs new interest in his cock.

“I don’t- _stop_ ,” Stephen moans.

Loki shrugs, and the pressure dies. Stephen sags in the Cloak’s grasp. “Lucky for you, I’m only a bastard when the mood suits me," Loki says, standing.

When he cups Stephen’s cheek and kisses him, Stephen finds himself returning the gesture. It has to be the tesseract. It has to be something...

***

“Thank you, Strange.” Thor, God of Thunder, says through an interdimensional communication portal. Stephen sees him from chest up - he is on a ship of some kind, low lit, thrumming with activity. Creatures of different shapes and sizes cross Thor’s background. “I’m aware that long-term settlement will require greater political involvement. But your support is vital to our success on Midgard.”

“You’ve decided on Norway then,” Stephen says. Thor nods.

The hair isn't the only change in Thor. His demeanor is more serious than it was when they first met - companionable yet grave. “It was in my father’s final words to us. He said to remember the place; home. At the time, I did not know what he meant.”

 _Final words to_ _us_. The two sons.

“You still intend to bring your brother with you,” Stephen says.

Thor purses his lips. “I understand your concerns, believe me. They are not unfounded.”

Stephen sighs, hands bridged before his mouth. “He’ll be your responsibility.”

“Mine alone, yes," Thor says. His smile is slight. “He is my brother, Strange. I know his crimes better than anyone, but when our people needed him, he was there. If his choice is to join our company on Earth, I will not turn him away.”

Stephen drums his fingers together. “Alright,” he says.

Thor’s eyes narrow. “Alright?”

“He’ll be required to disguise himself in public, of course.”

“Of course.” Thor pauses, looking at Stephen closely. “You will...permit Loki on Midgard.”

“He’ll have more than me to answer to,” Stephen says.

“Yes,” Thor agrees slowly, “but the others are not like you.”

Stephen nods. “Even so, I’ll allow it,” he says, “on one condition.”

Thor raises a brow. “A condition?”

“I’ll share that with him personally,” Stephen says, “if that’s alright with you.”

Thor hesitates. “Nothing that will hurt him,” he warns. Stephen nods his agreement. “And you will allow him an opportunity to agree or disagree with these terms?” Stephen nods again. Thor considers him curiously. “In that case...yes, I suppose.”

“Great. I’ll be in touch.” Stephen waves the communication line closed and sinks back in his chair.

The Cloak hums around him in anticipation. Stephen fingers the hem. “I know,” he says.

*The End*


End file.
